It was Steel City derby day yesterday, and I woke up earlier than anticipated, but that was more to desperately empty the contents of my bladder rather than in excitement. As a Derby County fan I didn’t have the proverbial butterflies in my pre-match stomach, but, instead I was actually looking forward to sampling a hostile rivalry as a neutral, for I haven’t once enjoyed a Derby v Forest match due to nerves. I wasn’t as neutral as I’d liked to have been for this match, but more about that later.
Why would a Derby fan want to go to a League 1 match? Fear not as I am about to explain. My housemate text me on Friday asking my thoughts about going to the match, as we both love football, and in particular, football rivalries (please note, he was at work; we tend to communicate via the spoken word when in each others company). This put the notion in my head, and I fancied it. A friend of mine once said “Life is what ya mek it, chief”. Whilst I didn’t want to make my life a Sheffield derby, I did want to make my Sunday a Sheffield derby, so I agreed.
And what about getting tickets? Sheffield United had a strict policy about those who qualified to buy tickets. Tom assured me he had bought home tickets from Brammall Lane before so we would be alright. A 45 minute walk and a nasty blister on my left foot later, we were walking out of the ticket office deflated and empty handed. Tom’s name was not on the database afterall. Just as I was telling myself the money I’d saved could buy me Noel Gallagher’s new album, a car full of lads drove by saying they could help us, telling us to meet them in the lay-by. We were either going to get abducted and killed, or receive vital information in our quest to get tickets. As i’m still writing this, you know which scenario occurred. They were top lads, cheers Ducky and co, whoever you are.
Brammall Lane and the area that it is situated in, if you didn’t know, is not superb. The way i’d usually get to the ground would involve passing the away end and the 5,000 Wednesday fans. I didn’t fancy getting embroiled in turf wars with Blades, Owls and police, so we took a different route; a route that involved walking through streets that haven’t yet moved out of the 70’s. Boarded up houses and flats, broken glass littering the floors, and not a lick of paint in sight.
The Kop end at the Lane yesterday also felt like I’d been transported back to the 70’s. Firstly you scan your tickets to get into the premises, and then you enter a courtyard of toilets and catering, with the stadium a little further along. Yorkshire chatter, smoke and a general greyness filled the air, whilst pies and pints appeared to be order of the day. I looked up to try and transport myself out of the 70’s, only to see the run-down concrete main stand of Brammall Lane. An old fashioned ground in every sense of the word, but one that can generate a great atmosphere.
The only tickets left by the time we got to purchasing them were in the Kop and had ‘restricted view’ written on them. The only warning that should have been on the tickets was ‘you may be surrounded by hooligans’. Having only ever been in the away end, I had been warned the Kop was home to some of Sheffield’s less pleasant characters. Cue a big man next to me who came in swearing and smoking. “Naughty boy, you can’t smoke in stadiums” I almost considered telling him. Tom was stood next to a gangway with yellow lines on indicating this area should be kept clear. Cue the 30 men in the Stone Island gear standing there all match. “Go and sit in your seats and appreciate the football” is something that never crossed my mind to tell them. It was at this point I realised I had to support the Blades more than I’d hoped.
The atmosphere was hostile and intense, and up there with one of the best i’ve witnessed. United sing a song about a chip butty. It makes no sense to me but it was sung with great heart and affection by their faithful. United also sing some fairly unpleasant songs, and some state-the-obvious ones too. “United hate f***in Wednesday, HATE F***IN WEDNESDAY”. My thoughts at this point were “why are you singing about yourselves in the third person?”
Shortly after kick off, the Kop united in sticking up fingers and pointing to their Wednesday counterparts (at the other end of the ground) singing “YOU’RE THE S**T PART OF SHEFFIELD”. I couldn’t help thinking I was stood with the s**t part of Sheffield. Soon after, United took the lead when the Ginger Messi, Stephen Quinn, scored after a deflection off the post. I raised my hands and clapped and smiled, but my efforts paled into insignificance to the people around me. Unpleasant as they were, I can’t blame them. I’ve celebrated similarly in the past when the Rams have scored against Forest.
2-0 soon after when Ched Evans headed past Stephen Bywater. In a bid to be a more convincing Blade, I even jumped up and down this time. We’re all Blades aren’t we? Half time and United fans were buzzing. The big chap next to me went to dry his sweaty head, and for a smoke too I presume.
“DIE DIE PIGGY PIGGY DIE” was the next chant from the Kop when a Wednesday player was down injured, along with a song about Jack Charlton being dead. The term piggy is used by both sets of fans as an insult to the other. The Blades direct it to the Owls as apparently Hillsborough once used to be a pig farm. The Owls use it to the Blades because the red and white stripes resemble streaky bacon, apparently. I’m not sure a shared insult quite works.
82 minutes in and Sheffield Wednesday pressure paid off. The Blades sat on the lead, much to the annoyance of the sweating guy next to me. If his voice is working today then I can feed 5000 people with a loaf of bread and two fish). The moment the ball hit the back of the net, a plethora of swear words flew through the air, and my neighbour immediately lit up a fag. I’m assured cigarettes help with nerves, but they certainly don’t help with cancer.
Four minutes after and Wednesday equalised. Blokes around me kicked seats, whilst at the other end the Wednesday fans, taking up both lower and upper tiers, absolutely erupted. The noise they made betrayed their official attendance, and from my distance, I can only relate my viewing to a big ants nest. So much movement and jumping in a crowded space. It was worth the money just to see such celebrations.
The police helicopter was circling above by now in anticipation of full time. The circumstances of the match and having been surrounded by such ‘interesting’ people made me want to smile - I’d seen 4 goals and witnessed my neighbours emotions climax and plummet. Had I done that though my death certificate (beaten and stampeded to death) would have probably been circulating round about now. I was an intruder in their patch, and I got away with it. The full time whistle went and for those around me it felt very much like a loss, whilst those at the other end were celebrating like they’d won.
On the streets immediately after we were walking by a young man in hooligan attire. A friend asked him “You going to The Sportsman mate?” He replied with “I’m going wherever I can find them”. Straight to the point; this guy was here for a fight. Had I been Ross Kemp or Louis Theroux, I’d have perhaps followed him. Had I been the police, I’d have perhaps arrested him. As I was me, I just went my own way. I feared for any Wednesday fan he found. He was angry.
Jamie Ward said the East Midlands and Sheffield derby were very similar, and after experiencing both as a fan, I tend to agree with him. I’m going to have to wait to buy Mr Gallagher’s album, but the experience of mixing with Sheffield’s finest on their biggest day of the season is one I enjoyed, and one I will remember for a long time.
